Avians and Arachnids
by Acadia Cor
Summary: "I'm Peter." "...Max." It started with a tabloid article, and a tabloid article was not exactly what Max wanted that Sunday morning, especially considering the fact that it made her drop her bagel and her dignity on the floor of Starbucks. So when she confiscates the camera of a local journalist, she's more than confused when he asks her out to lunch. [WitherVerse]
1. Mr Maker

**So if you weren't here for the first book in this series (Wither Wings) I highly suggest you go and read it for clarity's sake. If not, I have a handy dandy little catcher upper for you to read.**

**Maximum Ride, a 2% avian experiment who has suffered heaps of torment at the hands of the School, falls into the care of SHIELD after her entire Flock is annihilated in a heist gone wrong. She is taken in and they have a difficult time rehabilitating her until she is out on patrol and catches wind of a plot brewing. Later on she defeats the villain Mika Arathgor and his creature experiments, but not without a deadly cost. Now, she is a student at NYU and the adoptive daughter of Steve Rogers and Tony Stark.**

**Some useful information:**

**-this is set 3 years after Wither Wings  
-this includes some minor slash (Rogers/Stark)  
-the major ship will be Max/Peter or Pax  
-Peter will be played by Andrew Garfield  
-Phil Coulson, Thor, Loki, Fury, Maria Hill, and Jane Foster will probably not be appearing unless backed by popular demand  
-it will include many fluff scenes including one about chocolate chip pancakes. Yesh :3 **

* * *

It started with a tabloid article.

Maximum Ride slapped the magazine open as she plopped down onto the one free stool left at the local Starbucks. The front depicted a seemingly happy family with the eye catching title "_Of Wings, Warriors, And Why New York's Super Couple Decided to Adopt._" Tony was on one side and Steve on the other with Max in the middle like a superhero sandwich. Her dads were both kissing her on the cheek, eyes screwed up in the epitome of cute and fluffy love for their adoptive daughter, but Max was rolling her eyes like she couldn't believe how lame they were being. The photographer thought it was daughterly affection, but Steve and Tony knew for a fact that she actually was quite annoyed. Photoshoots were not her thing, and she made that perfectly clear. She would rather smother adorable puppies with plastic bags from Wal-Mart than have the makeup department reapply her lipgloss.

Max took a sip from the hot chocolate she had ordered and immediately sat it back down, her taste buds recoiling. Too sweet, Max reasoned. But the problem was they always made it too sweet, so she wasn't exactly sure why she kept going back to Starbucks. With a sigh, she flipped through the magazine to the article that the tabloid had written.

Underneath the seemingly chaotic lives of Tony Stark, owner of Stark Industries, and Steve Rogers, the famous hero Captain America, lies a home life that is as normal as any family's, at least, since the power couple decided to legally adopt their daughter, Maximum.

"We are so blessed to have her in our life," Stark gushed. "She is just what we've been missing."

Max, now a student at NYU, is best known for her notorious wings that give her the ability to fly similar to a bird. She first appeared in media three years ago when…

Max snorted, and flipped through the rest without really giving it any attention. She knew for a fact that wasn't what Tony had said; it was more along the lines, 'If you fuck with her I'll break your face.' Max smirked at the memory, remembering yet again why she loved her dad so much, and also recalling the face the reporter made after he said that. 'Have no fear of the press,' was Tony's sage advice, but it wasn't fear of the people that she had, exactly; it was more of the lawsuits that might follow.

So instead of ripping the magazine to shreds, she shoved it down the breakfast bar, hoping someone else would read and enjoy the watered down tales of the Stark-Rogers family. Picking up her bagel, she took a bite but was never allowed to swallow before a flash went off from outside the window of the Starbucks, shocking her so much she fell out of her seat with a strangled cry and landed squarely on her ass.

"I was hoping to eat that," Max mumbled miserably as she stared at the cream cheese streaking the tile flooring. Eventually she got over it and stood up, dusting off her pants and turning to glare at the paparazzi outside the window, giving them the classic 'I'm watching you' gesture, before picking up her bag and leaving through the front entrance.

* * *

Just to clarify this early on, Maximum Ride hates school but loves college. NYU was gorgeous in the fall, especially now since it was early October. She couldn't get enough of it even if she hadn't decided on a major yet. Law? Boring. Science? Bitter. English? Tedious. Nothing really interested her, she just liked to learn, and if college was good for anything, it was learning.  
She sat down on a bench in the small park outside the science building after her human anatomy class that only applied to her around 98% and sighed as her stomach rumbled, tilting her head back to look up through the flaming leaves of the large sycamore tree until she heard the click of a camera shutter.

Her head whipped up, but she saw nothing save for some college kids milling around on their way to their next class. Max settled back into the wooden slats of the bench, hoping to waste a little bit of time before she had to head to Interpretation of Film at 11:40, but then it went off again. A little succession of clicks coming from her right and she jumped up, zooming into action as she located the perpetrator and tugged the camera out of his hands, holding it beyond his reach.

"Do you think it's funny, huh? Taking pictures of me?" Max began to get worked up, using the camera to punctuate her point. "What's the caption going to be now? 'Adoptive daughter, Maximum Ride, becomes a hobo?' How would you like it if–" She lowered the camera as she finally got a good look at the guy. His hair was a rich brown, a few tufts sticking out from underneath a navy blue beanie. His breath was visible in the cold, the steam rising to partially obscure his Roman nose and the blood-red blush that was splotched across his cheeks. He was most certainly not the man at Starbucks this morning, and Max was intensely embarrassed because of the fact. "You aren't from US Weekly, are you?" she asked with an awkward cringe.

"I was taking pictures of the tree," he pointed past her at the sycamore, one hand stuffed in his pocket.

"Oh," Max sort of stared at him and blinked, trying to prevent the heat from creeping into her cheeks.

"B-but I could take pictures of you if you, you know, want," he offered with a shrug.

"Uh, no," Max interrupted, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear and casting her eyes downwards. "That won't be necessary."

A pregnant pause came between them before he stuck out his hand with a small, sweet smile and a twinkle in his eye.

"I'm Peter," he said.

"Max…" she replied, shaking his hand, the camera still clutched in her other and quickly becoming freezing cold in the frigid air.

"You look cold," he remarked. "Want to go and get coffee?"

That caught Max off-guard. First she harasses him, now he wants to go and get a warm beverage together? It just didn't add up. She considered herself lucky that she had actually paid attention to Nudge the day she decided to wax poetic about the connotations of the phrase 'do you want to go get _coffee_?'

Nudge... Just thinking about her made her sad. Nudge would want to see this; she'd slap Max on the shoulder and then recruit Angel for a makeover mission. They'd spend house dolling her up and stuffing her into jeans that were too tight and a tunic that was too short.

Max smiled, and made a decision, no matter how foolish it might be. "Sure," she answered, handing her his camera.

"Thanks," he began walking east, his hands keeping warm in the pockets of his hoodie. "Do you like Starbucks?" Peter asked, his footsteps making impressions on the grass.

"I don't think I am ever going back there," Max shook her head, laughing at her own stupidity.

"Is that what prompted...?" He trailed off, holding up the camera with a soft smile.

"Oh my god," Max groaned, hitting her forehead with an open palm. "Just forget that. Forget everything!"

"Well, I'm good at that," he murmured cynically underneath his breath with a humourless chuckle. "So what are you then? Actress, singer, dancer?"

"Ha!" Max said. "No way, it's just my dads."

"So they're actors, singers, and dancers?" Peter said.

"No. Just," she searched for the right word. "Points of conversation. What about your family?"

"It's just me and my aunt now," Peter said. "I take pictures for the paper to help pay for the house."

"What happened to your parents?"

Peter swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down before answering. "Gone."

It took Max a few seconds before answering. "I never knew mine."

Peter debated putting his arm around Max to comfort her but didn't, keeping his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry," he decided on saying. Not knowing your parents was worse than knowing them, even for a little while.

"Don't be." She passed in front of him and entered the coffee shop.

The place wasn't as packed as she expected it to be, which she was eternally grateful for because she found that ever since she arrived in New York three years ago she felt claustrophobic. The best way to describe the interior of the cafe was 'bustling.' It was a good word, one that Max liked despite the fact that Tony told her it means a busty woman's tits were dancing.

Shaking the image of Tony with breasts from her head, she sat down at a tall bistro table with her bag in her lap, Peter returned with two coffees and a chocolate chip muffin that he split down the centre.

He looked nervous as he cut it with a knife. "I didn't know what kind to get, so I just bought-"

"My favorite," Max said almost to herself, inadvertently finishing the sentence whilst picking up her half with fingerless glove clad hands and placing it on a napkin.

"So am I ever going to find out your last name?" Peter asked, one elbow on the table top.

"That's for me to know and you to eventually find out," she replied and he quirked his eyebrow. "I don't spill my secrets to every stranger I meet."

"But you're pretty good at attacking them." He took a swig of his coffee, mischief dancing in his eyes.

"It's my specialty," Max mumbled through a mouthful of muffin, picking at the crumbs left on the square of light blue.

Glancing at his watch, Peter stood up from his chair with his coffee in hand. "Well, I have to get back to work."

Max looked down at her own and her eyes bugged out, realizing that she would be late for class. "I need to get to film class."

"Wait," Peter touched her elbow to stop her from leaving. "Uh... here," he fumbled in his coat pockets and handed her a slip of paper as they walked out the doors.

"What's this?" Max asked in confusion.

Peter chuckled lightly, trying to dodge an awkward silence. "Er, well, it's my phone number." He rubbed the back of his neck and averted her gaze. "So you can call me." He took off, walked down the opposite stretch of street, and waved. "Bye, Max."

Max gulped with wide eyes. "Bye, Peter..." she whispered.

* * *

"She's too happy." Tony crossed his arms with a scowl as Max collapsed on the couch in the living room of the mansion with a dreamy sigh.

"So it's better if she's not happy?" Steve asked as he chunked tomatoes and threw them into the pan to cook for dinner this evening.

"It's a boy." Tony stared at the back of Max's head through the arched doors separating the two rooms as she turned the television on, completely disregarding Steve's question.

"Huh," Steve glanced up from the cutting board. "So that's what a love struck girl looks like. Who knew?"

"I did." Tony wrapped his arms around Steve's waist, resting his head on the back for his soft, light grey t-shirt. "It's what I look like every morning I wake up next to you."

"Perfect answer," Steve twisted around and planted a kiss on Tony's lips, the tomatoes and knife forgotten on the countertop.

The kiss was sweet, like they always were, Tony gaining the upperhand by pressing Steve against the edge of the counters. Their lips were locked firmly for thirty seconds before a pillow was launched at their conjoined faces. They continued to kiss, Tony snatching the pillow out of the air with his eyes closed.

"You two are disgusting," Max said with a horrified look on her face, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. "I have to eat that food you're fornicating over."

"Just makes it taste better, sugar," Tony said, pulling away from a blushing Steve.

Max walked out of the kitchen shaking her head. "I'm ordering takeout!" She hollered back at them.

* * *

**Well how's that for an introduction? I think Max and Peter might have scared each other to death. Keep in mind, Max isn't used to boys. She hasn't been around Fang in three years and she hasn't been on the run in three years, so she's gotten a little bit soft. That should explain any faint whiff of OOC coming from Max.**

**And the question of the day is...**

**How should Max and Peter meet up next and what should they do?**

**So comment, vote, review, and tell my your input!**

**-Acca **


	2. As Long as It Has Pirates

**Buongiorno, my lovely chums! Here is chapter two of the soon-to-be-famous Maximum Ride/Spiderman crossover. If you haven't already, go and check out _The Art of Gift Giving_ on my page. It's a Christmas one-shot that's Max/Peter and set a few years into the future. Enjoy!**

* * *

Max and Natasha sat opposite each other, Max's gifted cell phone that now entitled her to say that she was a member of the iPhone 5 club that she never really attempted to use for anything other than the occasional text message and a very angry game of Fruit Ninja placed between them on the hardwood flooring of the apartment.

Max looked down, then up, Natasha doing the same except with a waggle of the eyebrows. "You should call him."

After the events of the past few years and the death of her Flock, Tasha was the only female friend she had left and they were well matched, but Max felt herself missing the bubbly girliness of Nudge and Angel to balance out her serious demeanor. At times the winged girl and the Russian spy felt like too much concentrated badassery in one place, as if her head might explode from all of the stoicism and Max would just shake Natasha's shoulders and shout 'Do you _ever_ do anything normal?!' But she had a sneaking suspicion that Natasha wouldn't reply and the question was a bit of hypocrisy on her part, considering that she wasn't exactly normal herself.

"Is that, uh, normal protocol?" Max was uneasy and crossed her arms, Peter's number still clutched in her fist from earlier that day and probably crumpled beyond repair form the many times she had read it, flattened it out, and then folded it back up again.

"I don't think you two are following normal protocol anymore," Natasha replied, nudging the phone towards Max with her forefinger.

"I attacked and forcibly seized an item in his possession," Max nudged the phone back towards Natasha.

"Ooh, look at all of those college words that you're using. I bet Tony's kicking himself for firing that tutor for your GED after only a month. You excel at school work."

"Yeah, well, I got into college didn't I?" She shrugged, the slip of paper falling from her hand to rest on top of the phone's screen.

"That his number?" Natasha picked it up by one corner of the paper like she was reading a fortune from inside a cookie and scanned it with her eyes.

"Don't touch it!" Max lunged for Tasha's hands but she easily blocked her with an outstretched arm. Max went limp as Tasha released both her and Peter's number, but she went into a frenzy again as Tasha picked up her phone and dialed the number.

"Tasha," Max hissed, but the redhead simply shrugged as she passed the phone to Max while it was already ringing.

"Hello?" a voice came through the receiver.

Max's eyes went wide and she pounded furiously at the touch screen to end the call as soon as she heard Peter come onto the line. "Shit, shit, shit, shit," she muttered, beginning to hyperventilate. She looked at the info from the call, which only lasted a measly three seconds, and when the screen went black she set it on the floor.

She managed to calm herself down before her phone started buzzing again. This time, Peter was calling back. Max let out a small sound of surprise and scrambled as far away from the phone as humanly possible without jumping out of the window.

"You must really like him," Natasha quirked an eyebrow and reached for the phone. Max waved her hands at her as if the phone was poisoned. "Oh come on, stop being a baby," she admonished and answered the call. "Hello?"

"Hi, this number called me a minute ago and then hung up." Max could hear the lilting tones of Peter's voice from across the room.

"Oh yes, sorry about that. I was wondering if this was the number of Peter Parker?" Natasha's voice was casual with seductive undertones, like she was working a case or trying to get Clint to wax his chest hair again.

"...yes." Peter was suspicious.

"The call earlier was from Max, who is..." Natasha glanced at Max who was mouthing death threats at her involving zebras and banana peppers. "...indisposed at the moment. She wanted to see if you were available this Friday night."

Max couldn't hear what Peter was saying on the other side of the line. Natasha nodded several times, muttered good bye, and ended the call. She then unlocked the phone and typed something into it. Max unfroze as if a spell was broken and dashed across the room to grab at the device in Tasha's hands.

"You're welcome," she said dryly, handing it over. And address and time was set in her calendar for two days from now.

"Why did you do that?" Her voice was nearing a high, keening whine of terror.

"It was obvious that you weren't going to, so someone had to push you in the right direction," Tasha shrugged as if it was just a normal occurrence.

Max took in a deep breath and let it out. "I hate you."

Natasha grinned. "No you don't."

* * *

"_PARKER_."

Peter cringed as his voice was being called from Jameson's office. He got up from his desk at the _Daily Bugle_ with reluctance and trudged through the door. "Yes, sir?"

"Come in here." Jameson puffed on his cigar, his words distorted around the object as the choking smoke drifted through the room. Peter shut the door behind him.

Jameson slapped a selection of photos down on his desk in front of him and spread them out, pointing to a few with his stubby calloused fingers. They were the photos he had taken yesterday of the sycamore tree down on the NYU campus.

"Do you see anything wrong with these?" He asked Peter, who sensed that it might be a loaded question.

"They're just the pictures of the tree, sir," Peter said. "The ones that you asked me to put in the anniversary article."

"Look," A puff of smoke escaped from the corner of his mouth as he pulled a few pictures up out of the stack. The pictures were of Max. Max in profile, Max sleeping on the bench, Max laughing at the coffee shop. "I'm not paying you to look at pretty girls, so don't take pictures of them!"

"Oh," Peter turned bright red. "Er, sorry sir."

"Sorry's right," Jameson stacked the pictures back up, his cigar quivering. A cloud of toxic charcoal grey smoke flew into Peter's face as he stared at him. "Now go," he flicked his hand and Peter stood up hurriedly. "_And take better pictures_!"

* * *

"I heard you have a date tomorrow." Pepper popped up from behind the bar at Avenger's tower.

"Stop that," Max narrowed her eyes at Pepper. "Where did you even come from, anyway?"

Pepper did a hand gesture. "Irrelevant." She put her hands on her hips. "What we really need to deal with is that outfit."

Max looked down. She was wearing her father's old Black Sabbath shirt that had gotten too small for him when he had accidentally shrunk it in the wash a year ago, a pair of dark blue jeans, and a black leather belt. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's what you wear every day," Pepper said. "You certainly can't wear it on a date."

"But I-" Max began.

"Listen," Pepper touched Max's shoulder and walked past her towards the elevator, pushing the down button. "I'll come over to the house later and help you to pick something out." The elevator door opened and she stepped in. "See you then!"

"Okay..." Max's eyebrows knitted together, unsure of what had just transpired. _I know why Tony keeps her around,_ Max thought. _You can't say no to Pepper Potts._

* * *

"You need something that's flirty and fun, but also says 'Oh, I just threw this on and am looking casually gorgeous.'" Pepper had recruited Natasha who recruited Clint, who was currently giving her a piece of fashion advice from the depths of his mind that she really didn't want to see.

"Uh-huh..." Max gulped and looked at Clint with a blank stare.

"So all of your t-shirts are out unless you pair them with something more sparkly," he said matter-of-factly and went to open her closet.

Max turned to Natasha. "Did he try one of Bruce's experiments?"

Tasha gave a slight shrug, a grin bubbling up beneath her cool exterior. "He gets like this with clothes. I swear, it's all the _What Not to Wear_ that he's been watching."

Max looked wildly from Natasha to Clint as he pulled things out of her closet giving them a yay or nay then shook her head, as if she wanted to forget the whole ordeal all together. "As long as he doesn't throw anything out, I'm only mildly disturbed and scarred for life. I'll get by with some therapy."

"Ha ha, Miss Sarcasm," Clint shot back. He pulled out a band t-shirt with a chunky sweater and some coffee-washed jeans. "Here."

Max contemplated the outfit for a second. She shrugged and walked into the adjoining bathroom. "Not my first choice, but okay. Hipster it is."

"You'll look great!" Pepper shouted encouragingly.

"Don't you people have someplace better to be?" Max's voice came through the wooden door. "Like the middle of a battle, saving the world or something?"

"Surprisingly, the world hasn't been churning out many masterminds lately," said Natasha. "The most villainous thing that's happened last week was Tony eating all of Bruce's chips back at the tower."

Max walked out of the bathroom and Pepper clapped a hand on her shoulder, maneuvering her into a sitting position on her bed, and began to braid her hair. Max blew a stray piece of hair out of her eyes and scrunched her nose in a disgruntled manner.

She glanced at Pepper through the corner of her eye. "I don't think I ever had this much attention since Fang and I-"

"Since Fang and you what?" Pepper asked, continuing to weave Max's hair into something presentable.

"Since we first went out." She almost whispered it, immediately dampening the festive and jubilant mood. "Nudge used to braid my hair for me since it was so tangled that she could never curl it, not liked we even owned a curling iron...or electricity. Ha, she would have loved that," Max chuckled. "Angel was just learning how to braid. But she picked it up like _that_." She snapped her fingers.

There was a pause as no one in the room was quite sure what to do, aside from Natasha who was usually quiet anyway.

"There," Pepper said, pinning the last of Max's long hair up into a braided halo. She stood from her perch on Max's bed, scrutinizing Max to see if she was truly date-ready. "Now twirl."

Max stood up and awkwardly turned around. "We're just hanging out at his house, nothing big."

"Oh hush," Pepper said, pulling Max in for a hug. "My baby is all grown up!"

"Um, okay, cool," Max extricated herself from Pepper's grip. "I'm just going to leave now." She gestured with her thumbs to the door of her apartment, grabbing her wallet, keys, and phone. "Bye."

* * *

Peter's house was farther than she thought. Still not accustomed to the subway or to driving a car, she got lost three times on her way there. For a second she contemplated flying, but she didn't want to rip slits into her Kansas t-shirt and she was pretty sure Clint would kill her if she ruined the sweater, so she resorted to getting off at the nearest subway station and walking. Her feet hurt from disuse. She should have just taken a cab.

Max walked up to his front stoop and rang the doorbell, her hands tucked away in her pockets against the cold night air as her breath made clouds around her face. She heard a crash from inside the house and someone swear under their breath before the door opened to reveal a very tousled-looking Peter.

"Max," he said, sounding surprised and looking at the non-existent watch on his wrist.

"Hi," she said back. "Is this a bad time? Because this is what was in my phone-"

"No, it's- Well, sort of." He looked back into the house. "My aunt May is sick with the flu and I need to take care of her."

"Peter?" A frail female voice called from inside the house. "Who's there?"

Peter mouthed _'sorry'_ about their canceled date as he opened the door to reveal a woman around fifty-years-old with dark hair and intense dark green eyes. She was holding a tissue to her mouth and coughed before smiling sweetly at Max.

"Did you two have a date tonight?" she asked prodding at Peter.

"I didn't know that you were sick, sorry," Max said. "He should take care of you."

"Nonsense, this boy can barely take care of himself," she said. "I'm May Parker, and you are? I would shake your hand, but I don't want to get you sick too."

"I'm Max," Max smiled at Aunt May.

"Well come in, Max" She coughed and moved out of the foyer, walking back to the living room. "We were just starting to watch a movie."

Peter and Max exchanged a glance and she shrugged as if to say '_what can you do?_' Peter closed the door behind her as the heat hit her face full-blast.

"I like her," She whispered to him as he took her coat and they joined Aunt May in the living room.

"You better," Peter whispered back with a teasing grin. They both sat down on the couch, Aunt May on an overstuffed armchair, with a few DVDs spread out on the coffee table. "So we have _The Goonies_, _The Breakfast Club_, and _Pretty in Pink_ to choose from."

"80s movie night?" Max asked, curling her legs underneath her on the cushions.

"Favourite movie night," Aunt May replied. "_The Breakfast Club_ and _Pretty in Pink_ are mine, _The Goonies_ is Peter's."

Peter looked at Max, who raised her eyebrows, and then directed his eyes downwards, clearing his throat. "So, you can choose, since Aunt May and I were in an all-out war before you rang the doorbell."

Max scanned the titles of the movie choices. "Hmm..._The Goonies_."

"Nice choice," Peter said, popping the disk out of its case and feeding it to the DVD player. "Have you ever seen it before?"

"Nope," Max shook her head. "But it had pirates on it and anything with pirates can't be _too_ bad, can it?"

"Can't argue with that logic." Peter sat back on the couch, casually throwing his arm around Max's shoulders. She stiffened for a second before realizing that she wasn't going to take it away and then scooted closer to him. Aunt May took a sip of tea and eyeballed them out of the corner of her vision as the opening credits of the movie began to roll.

As far as dates went, it wasn't too bad.

* * *

**Not exactly as one would imagine their first date going, but not too bad. Now that Aunt May's been introduced to Max, she's going to hound him like crazy about it. 'Where's that lovely girl you brought over? Go out with her again!' I think Aunt May should be everyone's personal shoulder to cry on and relationship motivator, she'd make a lot of money off of it.**

**And the question of the day is...**

**What did you think of the date?**

**Ta-ta!**

**-Acca**


	3. For the Love of Doughnuts

**Yo, yo, yo, Acadia here to answer a few questions asked by the masses.**

_**How does Max know Pepper? I don't remember them meeting.**_

**Ah, a very good point. They met in chapter 8 of Wither Wings when Tony kicks Max out of the tower telling her he has to do 'things' and that she should take a girl's day with Pepper, Natasha, and Jane. The girls day doesn't go well, but Pepper is like an aunt ever since.**

_**What's the Goonies?**_

**A ghettofabulous eighties movie involving pirates, Indiana Jones-style boobie traps, and a boy who says he can speak spanish but really can't and it sort of gets them all in trouble with wells and curses and treasure maps. No Dread Pirate Roberts involved, sadly.**

_**Peter seems to stutter a lot. Why is that?**_

**I recently rewatched The Amazing Spider-Man and Andrew Garfield's characterization of Peter really struck me. I liked how he did things more with actions than he did with words and wasn't really good on getting words out. He also does tend to stutter around pretty ladies, just as Max stutters around pretty boys.**

* * *

Feet pounded on the concrete outside the back door of the Astoria-Waldorf hotel in Upper East Side Manhattan on a brisk fall afternoon. Leaves were beginning to shed from the trimmed-daily trees that lined the sidewalks and it made it just that much harder for Maximum Ride to sneak up on her target.

"Blech." She pulled a maple leaf wet with dew from her mouth and spit on the ground below, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. It had rained the night before and was proving to be a serious disadvantage.

_But when did you ever let that get to you? Eh, Maximum?_ she asked scolded herself. She spotted the royal blue of the perpetrator's windbreaker a block down the road. _Now go on after his ass!_

Max landed, allowing herself to regain some strength and then took off on a running start, shooting a straight as a bullet towards him, wings tucked in close to her shoulder blades. Her boots scraped the pavement in front of him, leather gloves skimming the ground as she came to a stop, wings spread to their full length.

The man recoiled, clasping at the manila envelope that was stashed underneath his windbreaker and stumbled backwards, trying to run the other way. She flitted in front of him with ease, grabbing him by the shoulder as he turned around. The man fell to the ground, his pants soaked through from the sodden ground. He began to grasp at the asphalt as if to stand up and get away as Max stepped closer, casting a shadow over his face.

"The file, Mr. Hartley," she commanded, holding out one hand.

_Ping. Ping. Ping._

"You'll never- Wait, is that a ring tone?"

_Bzzt! Ping. Ping. Ping._

"Damn," Max swore, rolling her eyes with a huff and unzipping her jacket pocket to see who was calling. She punched the answer button with irritation. "Hello?"

"Max!" Peter's voice sounded hopeful and overflowing with cheer, like he overdosed on sunbeams and daisies. "How are you?"

"I'm great, Peter," she replied, a slight edge to her tone due to the interruption. The man in the windbreaker saw his opening and scrambled up. "Oh no you don't," Max whispered underneath her breath and grabbed his collar, deftly pulling him to the ground in one swipe.

"What was that?" Peter asked.

"Nothing," Max said, matching Peter's happy voice as the criminal was struggling at the end of his leash.

"So I was, er, wondering if you were free on Wednesday," said Peter.. "To go out on a date," he finished hastily. "A proper date- a _better_ date than the one a few days ago."

The guy wormed free, but Max caught him by the elbow, twisting it at such an angle before pushing his face against the brick wall facade of the Waldorf-Astoria. He let out a groan. "I thought that your aunt May was sweet."

"Ha, yeah," Peter commented. "It was real sweet how she was sneaking peeks at us all through the movie, like I would spontaneously propose or something crazy like that- which I wouldn't, propose I mean. No, who would do that on the first date? I'm not that kind of creepy-"

"Peter," Max interrupted, pulling the file from inside the guy's jacket with his arms pinned behind him and her phone cradled between her right shoulder and her ear. "If I say yes will you stop talking?"

"Uh," Peter paused. "I have to say that's a first. If I talk even more will you go out with me next week, too?"

"Bye, Peter," Max laughed, knocking the man out with a blow to the temple. "See you Wednesday."

"Goodbye, Max." They hung up.

Max slung the unconscious Mr. Hartley onto her shoulder, stuffed the manila envelope into her jacket, and began the trek back to Avengers Tower.

And on the top of a midtown skyscraper, Spider-Man let out a mighty whoop of celebration and leapt off of the roof towards an unknown destination.

* * *

"Air mail for Bruce Banner!" Max called as she threw the criminal off of her shoulder and onto one of the tables in the sick bay at HQ. Luckily enough, Mr. Hartley was still unconscious and didn't mind being manhandled or, at least, didn't have a say in it. Max plopped down into Bruce's swivel chair and did a 360 rotation.

"You should call the police when you catch someone, Max, instead of just bringing them to me." Bruce rearranged Hartley's limbs so he was laying in more of a sleeping position than a corpse in a mass grave position.

"I only bring the baddies to you if they have injuries," she said.

"And yet they _always_ seem to have injuries." Bruce chuckled.

"Sometimes they deserve it," Max said and pushed off of the side of the wall with her legs, propelling herself and the swivel chair towards the opposite side of the room.

He checked the vitals of the captured criminal before politely handcuffing him to the table and putting a pillow underneath his head. "Now, do you have the file?" He asked Max.

"Why do you even doubt me?" Max flashed a grin and pulled the manila envelope from her jacket. "Not sure if he tampered with it. I haven't taken a peek yet."

"Go and give that to Steve before you do anything else," he instructed. Max happily obliged and gave a mighty push off the wall opposite the elevator and slid, on the swivel chair no less, into the elevator with the file in her left hand. "And bring back my chair!"

"Yessir!"

* * *

Steve was biting into the bottom half of a bagel when Max found him a few stories up from the sick bay. He put down the newspaperand his brunch as she placed the file in front of him. "Right on time," he said.

"I'm never late," Max said, flopping down into the chair opposite him and putting her combat boots up on the table top. "My professors call me 'perpetually punctual.'"

"You inherited that one from me," Steve said with a self-satisfied nod.

"God knows Tony is anything but punctual." Max twirled a piece of hair around her finger and then blew it out of her face with a puff of air from her lungs. She pulled her boots off of the table and looked at the file. "Open it."

"Why?" Steve asked. "I was enjoying brunch before you got here and I'm going to continue to enjoy it."

"I want to know what I was sent out to get." Max pushed the file towards Steve. "Open it."

"Nope." Steve picked up his bagel and took another bite.

"Then I'll do it myself." Max picked it up and tore straight through the seal, yanking the contents out of the envelope. She picked up a newspaper clipping that was on top and squinted at it. "This...is a doughnut recipe."

"Yep."

"You made me go and beat someone up for a _doughnut recipe_." Max was incredulous.

"Not just any doughnut recipe." Steve set down his bagel. "My _mother's_ doughnut recipe. It was published in the papers when I was eleven. She won a baking contest. This clipping was stolen from the newspaper archives."

"Cool." Max looked at the grainy picture that depicted a woman with a platter of doughnuts. Was this Steve's mother or just a typical 30s housewife? She put it back in the envelope and then gave the entire file to Steve before getting up from her chair. "Oh, I won't be able to make it to dinner Wednesday. I need to study."

"You always come over for dinner. What subject are you studying for?" Steve asked.

"Uh...Science." Max said, racking her brain for an excuse and coming up a bit short. "I have to write an essay on...Parkerson's, I mean _Parkinson's_, disease." Her thoughts were interlaced with those of Peter, making even words that sounded like his name pop out of her mouth.

"Aren't you studying herbology this semester?" Steve asked, catching on to the fact that something might be up.

"Uh," Max said with wavering certainty. "It affects plants as well."

"Okay..." Steve raised his eyebrows as she exited the room, shaking his head and picking up his bagel and the _Daily Bugle_ to resume his brunch. "Women are strange."

* * *

**Next chapter shall be the date! Yesh :3 And before the question of the day, I would like to ask you all a different question. When this fic is done, I was thinking of creating either a Maximum Ride/Harry Potter crossover or a Percy Jackson/Harry Potter crossover, in the HP mood and all. Would any of you be interested in that? No, I won't be abandoning this story at all, I have **_**big**_** plans for it, but the other crossover might be a spare time sort of thing.**

**And the question of the day is...**

**How long do you think Max can cover up her relationship with Peter from her parents?**

**-Acca**


	4. Garden Gnome Covert Ops

**I'M BACK, BITCHES. **

**And because you've all been good boys and girls and because I was a bit bored at work you get a new chapter. Rejoice!**

* * *

Max wasn't sure what she had expected but it wasn't this. Peter had come by her apartment at around eight o'clock to pick her up even if he didn't have a car. He came armed with coffee, not the most romantic of notions but sweet nonetheless.

"You look pretty," Peter said when Max opened the door to apartment 17A in pair of somewhat dressy jeans (meaning they were dark wash) and, in the last ditch effort to be girlier, a dark green box top with sequins. Her hair wasn't anything special, just down like normal, but she had at least run a brush through it. You knew things were getting serious if Maximum Ride breaks out beauty tools.

"Hello to you too," Max said, thrown off of her game by the compliment. She then turned to the space behind her door and rummaged with one hand. "Let me get my coat."

"You might want to get a scarf and some gloves, too," Peter said, indicating his own Fair Isle scarf that Aunt May had knitted him for last Christmas.

"Is it going to be cold where we're going?"

"Why do you think I brought coffee?" Peter answered, handing Max one of the cups.

"'Cos you're sweet, that's why." Max ruffled Peter's hair and took the coffee from him. She grabbed her keys from the dish next to the door and locked the apartment behind her. "Shall we?"

Peter offered up his arm and Max took it, looping her arm through his. "We shall."

* * *

The walk to the park wasn't very far, but the sun was down and the sparkling Christmas lights of overly eager beavers wanting to get into the holiday spirit were twinkling in the birches, oaks, and maples that dotted the green expanse of rolling hills and playgrounds. The metal railings and pathways were slick with condensation, steam billowing from the small smokestacks of the fast food vendors.

"Can we have hot dogs?" Max asked, angling her body towards the closest hot dog cart.

"That's what you want to eat?" Peter asked, skeptical.

"I'm a cheap date." Max shrugged, dragging him there along with her. "C'mon."

The cart might have once been white but was now a sort of dingy grey with yellow stripes and an old fashioned logo, attempting the more festive circus route decoration-wise. A man whose jowls were sagging as much as the yellow awning gave them a tired look that spoke volumes that mostly read _I should have retired years ago_.

Peter scanned the menu tacked to one of the open doors. "How many do you want?"

"Seven," Max decided.

"_Seven_?" Peter asked.

"Three with chili, one with relish, two with mustard, and another with ketchup," she said pensively as the old man wrote her order down. "Yes, I think that's it."

"I'll have three, all ketchup." Peter reached for his wallet as the man tallied up the cost.

"Hey, I'll get this one," Max said.

"Oh no you don't," Peter counted out twenty dollars and handed them over Max's head, who reached to drag his arm down.

"Yes, I'm going to pay for mine, Peter," Max stared at him firmly.

"This is a date, which means the guy pays and in this case, I believe the guy is _me_." Peter handed over the twenty dollars and the man nodded gruffly, beginning to pile the toppings on their hotdogs and put them into boxes.

"How sexist of you." Max crossed her arms.

"I think you meant 'how wonderful of you to buy me dinner, Peter, you're the best, Peter!'"

Max rolled her eyes and shot him a look that lost its effectiveness when a smile crept up on her face instead. "Free food is good food."

"Exactly." Peter grabbed the hot dogs and said thank you before they walked on, finding a spot on a bench a few yards down. He handed Max's hot dogs over to her and she immediately dug in, devouring all seven before Peter had finished two of his.

"There must be something in the water that makes these things so good." Max licked a drop of ketchup off of her upper lip and crumpled the paper that held her seventh hot dog into a ball, shooting it into the bin a yard or so away.

"Seven's quite a feat. Should I be disgusted or give you a trophy?" Peter asked, amused.

"I've handled both." Max shrugged. "But three is just as honorable. You tried your best!"

"Where do you even put it all? You're so tiny!" Peter exclaimed.

"Speak for yourself, dude. I could pick you up one handed!" Max teased.

"I'd like to see you try," Peter replied.

"Challenge accepted!"

Max shot forwards and grabbed Peter around the middle, but Peter was quicker and twisted her grip around, holding her upside down instead. She shrieked in surprise and tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

"Put me down!" Her voice was breathless with laughter. "I swear, Peter-"

He flipped her back up and lifted her above his head Dirty Dancing-style. "I win!" He grinned.

"This isn't one-handed," Max pointed out.

"Fine," Peter adjusted his hands and put his right one flat on her stomach, holding her up with only one arm. He lowered her and then threw her up into the air, catching Max as she came back down with an easygoing smile and a protective hand behind her shoulders and underneath her legs. The force knocked him back onto the bench, sliding Max into his lap.

Their eyes connected, sparkling brown to glittering blue. "Nice moves," Max whispered, the air knocked out of her.

The intensity of the stare increased until it felt like they were the only people in the world and the innocent bystanders were just lawn decorations. Ever polite, Peter said distractedly, "Thanks." A few tension-filled seconds passed before he leaned up, connecting his lips to hers softly and then pulling back when she didn't kiss back.

"Was that okay?" Peter asked. "Because if it wasn't we could just forget-"

"No, no…" Max said, bewildered but pulling him by the collar to do it again. "Kissing's good. Kissing's _great_. More."

And the lawn decorations never suspected a thing.

* * *

"What's got you so chipper?" Tony asked, flicking Max on the head with _Robotic Engineering Quarterly_ as she lounged on their living room couch that Thursday evening, a makeup day for the dinner she missed the night before.

"Life is... great, you know?" Max grinned and giggled like a madman. "Everything is just... just... _great_."

"Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?" Tony stooped down and examined her closely, his nose bumping into hers.

"Oh dad," Max chuckled, patting him on his cheek.

"What drugs did you sneak from the lab?" He asked.

"I didn't steal any drugs," Max said.

"Did you break into my liquor cabinet?" Tony continued.

"No." She shook her head. "Besides, you don't exactly keep that locked."

"Touche, touche..." he said, stroking his beard. "Oh! I remembered why I came over here. We've got a gala to attend next month."

Max wrinkled her nose. "What's this one about?"

"Dedication of the superhero memorial bridge." Tony sat down on the couch next to her.

"Seriously?" Max groaned. "How many bridges do we need? What exactly does the city think that's going to accomplish? Metaphors aren't exactly high on our Christmas list. Besides, we can just fly over them!"

"Doesn't matter," Tony cracked his gum. "All the heavy hitters will be there, though. Me, Cap, Bruce, Thor, Captain Hammer, a few X-Men, some academy students who've saved the city, all that jazz. And you have a date."

"A _date_?" Max rolled the word around in her mouth, not liking the taste when she came to the conclusion that it wouldn't be Peter.

"It's just a favour to an old business contact at Worthington Industries," Tony said. "His name is Warren, he's a few years older than you and doesn't want to be there any more than you do."

"Mutation?" Max asked, none too pleased.

"He's one of the X-Men," he replied. "I'm not too sure on the details, but the press would just wonder where your date was if you didn't bring one, so Warren solves it."

"An X-Men, huh?" Max thought it over. "Okay, sure, I'll play nice, but I'm ditching him after half an hour."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Tony grabbed Max's head and planted a kiss on the part in her hair. "Dinner's ready. Go wash up."

* * *

For Max and Peter, the only thing worse than trying to keep their relationship a secret from her parents was trying to meet up again. It rarely happened due to busy schedules and the exuberance of criminals demanding their attention, so when Max called Peter a few days later he was walking through the sewers, on the hunt after an escaped robber.

"Hey Max, what's up?" Peter asked, holding his cell phone up to his spidey suit covered ear.

"There's a concert in Chelsea on Friday, the Fratellis," Max said. "I was wondering if you wanted to go?"

"Sure, that'd be great," Peter said, sensing the shadow of the robber a little ways ahead. "But, uh, I'm going to have to call you back, okay Max?"

"Cool, see you then," Max hung up, resisting the fangirl shriek that was bubbling up in her throat, threatening to wake all of the inhabitants of her apartment building.

However, that Friday night SHIELD received a lead on another not-so-masterful mind that they had on file for a while and wanted to be taken in.

"Shit," Max cursed as the culprit threw a knife at her and she dodged it just in time, the blade slicing off a chunk of her hair. She ducked underneath a girder in the abandoned warehouse where the villain had set up camp, checking her watch. It read 6:00pm. She scrambled up a level, following the bright yellow backpack of the guy.

He jumped down an old elevator shaft to the first floor, having Max trapped in the cramped catwalk of a ceiling without room to spread her wings. She cursed again when she felt her phone vibrate in her jean pockets.

"Hey," came Peter's voice when she answered. "Can you text me the adress or something so I can meet you there?"

"Uh," Max tracked the escapee down and slithered through the steel bars after him, dropping down onto the warehouse floor amidst beakers and test tubes. "Sure. I might be a little late..."

She dashed after the bright yellow backpack crusader, trying to grab onto the top handle as he ran out one of the side windows. He dropped down into a garbage truck as it drove by. Max deflated, knowing full well that she'd have to go after him. "Scratch that. I'm going to have to cancel."

"Really?" Peter sounded disappointed and confused. "Uhm, well, okay."

"We can do something tomorrow, though," Max tacked on. "Maybe lunch?"

"Of course," Peter replied. "Bye Max."

"Bye Peter." Max ended the call and flew out after her target.

But, true to form, they didn't go out again that day or the next. Spider-man helped defeat a carjacker, Maximum Ride brought in that rogue scientist, but Peter Parker and Max did not go on a date and wouldn't for a while.

* * *

**Is this news of a gala I hear? Not the grand galloping gala, of course, but something similar. I was going to make it the gala at the Met, but that doesn't account for the large amount of supers hanging around. **

**And the question of the day is...**

**From what is the superhero memorial bridge dedication ceremony taken from? There's a hint in the guest list!**

**-Acca**


	5. Felix Felicis

**Welcome back! In this chapter, things heat up a bit more in every aspect of the plot. Peter and Max get a bit more fluff and flirty-flirty times, trouble begins to brew on the subway system, and Max meets a peculiar homeless man who I've decided shall be played by Morgan Freeman. **

**See if you can spot the Batman reference!**

* * *

There was a knock. Peter opened the door.

"I've got gummy worms!" Max stood on his front stoop at 11 am on a Saturday, her umbrella resting up against the brick of his house as the rain _pitter-pattered_ in the gutter. She was holding up a one pound bag of neon green and pink sour gummy worms with a smile.

"Perfect," Peter took the bag from her, kissed her on the cheek, and let her inside the house. "Let the hang out day begin."

She took her coat off, placing it on the rack with her gloves and kicked off her boots before jumping onto the couch, making herself right at home. Max picked the tv remote up and turned it on, flipping through the channels while Peter went into the kitchen to get the rest of the food.

"There's a _Friends_ marathon on channel forty two," Max called back to him, looking through the guide.

"That's good with me if it's good with you," Peter replied, juggling five or six containers of sweets in his two arms as he exited the kitchen.

"Need any help?" Max asked, eyeing the tupperware of pretzels as it tottered on his elbow.

"Nah, I'm good." Peter walked slowly towards the coffee table. He put down everything on his left arm and was beginning to take down the things on his right when the pretzel container finally lost its footing and began to fall. But with incredible speed, Peter snatched it from a fate worse than death on the hardwood flooring, not a single pretzel spilled.

"Wow," Max's eyes widened. "You have really good reflexes."

"I don't like to brag," Peter began. "But photography is only my day job. I'm actually a ninja."

She rolled her eyes.

"Okay, so we've got Skittles, pretzels, mini marshmallows, chex mix, and gummy worms." Peter gestures to all of the food. "Dig in."

Another _Friends_ episode started as Max reached for a day-glo gummy worm and took a bite, settling back into the sofa. Aunt May came down the stairs, grabbing her keys, and opening the door.

"Bye, you two," she popped her head back into the foyer. "I'm going to work."

"Bye Aunt May," Max and Peter said in unison. The door closed.

"Alone at last..." Peter stretched his arms slowly and put one around Max's shoulders.

"Smooth," she complimented teasingly, offering up a worm. "Gummy worm?"

"Definitely." Peter reached down and took a bite from the worm in her hand, his lips grazing her open palm. "Skittle?" He held up a piece of the multi-coloured candy.

"Of course," she said and he threw it. She caught it deftly in her mouth.

"You are very talented." Peter smiled, kissing her lightly on the lips.

She was going to reply with something witty and clever, but then she saw a deep purple bruise that extended out from the neckline of Peter's purple t-shirt. "What's that from?"

"Oh, nothing." He admonished.

"It looks serious," Max said, running her fingers over it. Peter winced, but covered it up quickly.

"I'm fine," he reassured firmly.

Max was suspicious but she let the matter drop and curled up into Peter's arm, her legs bent beside her as they began to watch television. After a few episodes she shifted positions, lying with her head in Peter's lap and her feet propped up on the couch's armrest. During a commercial break they began to play a lazy hand game whilst asking each other questions.

"First pet?" She asked, slapping his left hand with her right.

"Dog. Favourite movie?" Peter's right hand collided with her left.

"The Terminator. Hobbie?" Max continued to pummel Peter in patty cake.

"Saving the world. You?"

A slow smile crept up on her face. "Same."

"Know any other games?" Peter asked. Patty cake was beginning to get a bit dull. "Mary Mack?"

Max shook her head no.

"You've never learned Miss Mary Mack?" Peter gasped in overdramatic outrage. "Sit up, let me teach you."

Max got up off of his lap and sat crossed legged on the cushions facing him. "Okay sensei, what should I do first? Wax on or wax off?"

"First you put your hands like this." He positioned her palms so one was facing up and the other down. He hit her hands with his own. "Then you switch them like so." He demonstrated and she followed. "Then you..." He acted as if he was adjusting her wrists but interlaced their fingers instead, pulling her close for a kiss.

"No fair," Max murmured, her nose brushing against his.

"It's not a competition," Peter replied between kisses.

"If it was, I'd win." A smile spread across Max's lips.

"We'll see about that." Peter pounced and they melted into a playful fervor of kisses, whispers, and gummy worms.

* * *

Max had to leave mid-makeout session when her phone began to ring.

_Bzzt! Bzzt!_

"Is that yours?" Peter panted as they came up for air. The screen of her phone was flashing 'The Snarkster.'

Max groaned, feeling about for the square piece of metal and answering the call. Her chin was resting on Peter's sternum.

"Yeah?" Max asked. "Uh-huh...yep...got it. Be right there."

"Family thing to work?" Peter asked, naming the two top excuses she'd been using for the past week.

"A little bit of both."

Peter leaned up and kissed her, but she pulled away with a shake of her head. She slipped off of the couch. "If we start again I won't be able to stop."

"Then don't." Peter grabbed her hand and played with her fingers lazily like a petulant child. "Today was supposed to be _our_ day."

"And it was perfect." She pecked him on the forehead. "But I have to go."

"You show more self restraint than I do." Peter watched her pull on her boots and slip her phone into her pocket. He got up off of the sofa.

"I've had more practise." She buttoned her coat. He came up and put his hands on her waist, coaxing her into a nice, long, slow kiss before opening the door for her.

"Bye, Max," he said.

"I'll call you later," she replied, taking her umbrella and going out into the rain.

* * *

It was particularly dreary outside. The clouds were low and oppressively dark, sparking with thunder and lightning. Rain came down in sheets, soaking Max's ankles despite the umbrella. The subway was no better.

Tiles were slick, causing many pedestrian collisions and backing up the trains by five minutes, which was positively scandalous. The train that Max had to take was crowded but short and she got off to change to another a few stops down.

She walked past a newspaper and tabloid magazine peddler. To her right, a few disable homeless people sat begging for a spare quarter. Max dug into her pocket for some change and gave it to a man who held up a sign explaining that he had lost his home and family in the chitauri invasion. She always liked to give money to chitauri survivors, even though she hadn't been there for the attack.

"Thank you kindly, ma'am," the old man said. His beard was a grizzled grey and his skin a light chocolate with a smattering of freckles.

"Just doing my job," Max said with a nostalgic glance. He reminded her of when she was on the run, deserted by the Flock with no chance of survival. "Are you hungry?" she asked with a sad smile. "I could get you something to eat if you like."

"Oh no," the old man said. "You don't have to do that."

"It's bad subway station food, but it's better than nothing." She helped him to his feet. "Do you like bagels?"

They walked to the cheap deli set into the wall. Boxed lunches sat in a refrigerator in front of a small counter with bottles of iced tea and water.

"Ah, a ham sandwich will do just fine," he said hesitantly.

Max chose two ham sandwiches and some water, paying for the lunch with a twenty dollar bill. She cleared off a table and set the sandwich down for the man as he sat down in his chair with creaking limbs.

"Oh, where have my manners gone? My name is Fawkes." His smile created ridges of wrinkles at the outer edges of his eyes.

"Mine is Maximum, sir," she said.

"Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Maximum." He held out his hand and she shook it. "Nice handshake you've got there."

"My father taught me well," was all she said in reply. She gestured to the ham sandwich. "Eat."

"Thank you so much for this, ma'am," he said sincerely, unwrapping the plastic on the sandwich. "And I should've learned in the past not to question the good acts of others, but why?"

Max sipped some water and thought about it for a second. "My family helped to fight the chitauri and since they aren't exactly the best at cleaning up their own messes, I'm guessing they're the reason you're homeless."

"Ah, so you're the famous Stark-Rogers daughter," Fawkes said, realization dawning in his tawny eyes.

"I'm not famous," Max said hastily, glad that he hadn't mentioned her wings. They were of such widespread importance when she was adopted three years ago that it was incredibly embarrassing.

"Don't be ashamed by honor, Maximum," he said solemnly. "It will only bring power to your enemies."

His voice sounded familiar. "What did you do before the invasion?"

"I was a scientist and engineer." He bit into his sandwich.

"And the lab fired you after you lost your home?" Max's brow furrowed.

"The lab _was_ my home," he said. "All of my work is lost now."

"I'm sorry," Max said. She caught the time from a clock on the opposite wall. "But I'm going to have jet. My train is about to leave."

"What about your food?" he asked, gesturing to her unopened sandwich and leftover water.

"Keep them," Max said, nudging them across the table and standing from her chair. "You don't deserve to go hungry."

"Thank you. Oh and Maximum?" he said, catching her right as she was about to cross the threshold of the deli. "Things are always better than they seem. Keep searching for the answer you're looking for and you'll find it."

Max suppressed a smile. "You're like a fortune cookie. I'll see you around, Fawkes."

"Goodbye…"

* * *

The downpour was even worse when she began to approach her apartment, the request that Tony had given her now a small blip in the back of her mind. Her meeting with Fawkes had struck a chord. Was he one of the fallouts of the great, heroic adventures that people like Steve and Tony had? Could it be that even though they were doing a great deal of good, they were also doing a great deal of _bad_ as well? Max should know, she was one of the fallouts from a large project just like Fawkes was; if she had a chance to turn her life around, then he did too. It was a thought that gave her hope, until she saw a woman's purse being snatched not twenty yards in front of her.

"Hey, he has my purse!" she yelled, running after him but hindered by her 3-inch dark orange heels and black pencil skirt.

Max began to run towards the attacker, but he was pulled sideways into an alley in a matter of seconds. The woman's purse was slung back out. She picked her purse up, as shocked and confused as Max was, then continued on her way. Max however wasn't as accepting of blissful ignorance and chose to look into the alleyway. What she saw was certainly surprising.

"I won't," the criminal pleaded, stuck to the bricks by some sort of webbing adhesive. "I swear!"

The person facing him was wearing an all-over body suit like he was about to participate in a luge competition or go bobsledding. It was blue and red, with a grip pattern like that of a web. The person's face was covered by the suit as well, two bug-like lenses allowing them to see. On the chest of the suit was a stylized print of a spider and Max knew immediately who it was. Spider-man.

Spider-man heard Max's footfall from the entrance of the alleyway and whipped his head around to look at her. After a few seconds of staring, he turned back to the criminal and fished in the pockets of his coat for the man's cell phone. Spider-man dialed the police and held the phone up to the purse snatcher's ear.

"H-help me! He's got me in some kind of webbing, like a sp-spider-" He was knocked unconscious by a swift right hook and Spider-man replaced the cell in the man's pockets. The police were on their way.

Max watched the entire exchange with a critical eye. Her fathers didn't think very highly of Spider-man. They thought he was sloppy, a young amateur playing at being a hero, but what Max saw was different. He looked tired, as if he was the only one doing the job with a world of hurt on his shoulders. The Avengers and the X-Men didn't really go after the petty law breakers, so that left Spider-man to do the job. It seemed lonely.

"Who are you?" Max asked, stepping over a broken glass bottle.

Spider-man looked at her as if he was about to answer, but turned around and ran to the nearest fire escape, leaping onto it and skittering away.

"Hey!" Max called after him. "_Hey!_"

But he was gone. The rain came down even harder, Max's umbrella lying forgotten on the middle of the sidewalk. She turned and left the alleyway, entering her apartment building one block down and shaking off the rain from her hair and coat. The entryway was soaked, but she didn't notice until she opened the front door to her apartment and saw that she was standing in three inches of water. Her entire apartment was flooded.

Max dropped her bag in surprise. "Shit."

* * *

**With no place to live Max is going to end belly up with all of her classes, poor dear. And the question of the day is...**

**Who should Max live with until she can find a new apartment?**

**Review with your thoughts! Also, anyone wanting to sneak a peek at my new work-in-progress _The Lies We Tell Ourselves_ (MR/HP crossover) can message me and I'll give you a sample of the first chapter.**

**-Acca**


	6. And Here is Acca With the Weather

**WE INTERRUPT YOUR MARATHON OF MAXIMUM RIDE CROSSOVERS TO BRING YOU THIS NEWS UPDATE.**

**New Harry Potter/Maximum Ride story on my profile yonder! Summary is below and if you have any questions, just ask!**

_"This is our bane, Maximum. Man cannot deny his existence any more than his existence can deny him." _

Maximum Ride was not expecting to be transported to England via a can of peaches so that the Flock could follow their higher calling as wizards. But when Dumbledore brings promises of a cure for Iggy's blindness, it's all aboard the Hogwarts Express as the Flock finds themselves up against everything, from rival houses to underground dueling leagues and one very irate poltergeist.


	7. The Toxicity Level of Stony

**Avians is going quite swimmingly. I've actually been updating on time (as opposed to Wither Wings which was three in a week, then none in two months). So enjoy this chapter and look for another one in around five days!**

* * *

Max woke up and sort of spasmed, her hand clutching the bedspread in large fistfulls. _These aren't my sheets_, she thought frantically. _This isn't my bed. Where _am_ I? _She opened her eyes hesitantly, just in case she had any ass kicking to do, and then realized where she was exactly.

Light blue paint covered the walls with a darker blue stripe running around the perimeter of the room. Her bed was made of a simple wrought iron with a yellow comforter. A whitewash armoire stood to the left of the window, a similarly-styled desk to the right. She was in her room, her _old_ room in the mansion that Steve helped her paint when they first adopted her. The door was cracked open a few inches, the smell of pancakes wafting in from the kitchen.

Max stretched her arms and sat up in bed before swinging her legs over the edge of the frame. She yawned, taming her hair into a ponytail with a hair tie that was on the bedside table, and stood up. The door opened easily and she closed it behind her, walking leisurely into the kitchen.

"I smell something delicious, so what's cooki-AAH!" She jumped back a few feet in shock and a bit of disgust. Her eyes were wide, hands coming up to cover her face so she wouldn't have to bear witness.

Steve and Tony were wrapped in an embrace, Tony with his back resting on the kitchen table. Steve was leaning over him, their lips previously interlocked. Steve's shirt was almost completely off, Tony's hands on his perfectly sculpted abs with just thumbs hooked into the waistband of Steve's sweatpants. A stack of chocolate chip pancakes on a blue plate were three inches from Tony's head.

"God, you're worse than teenagers, you know that?" Max cried, exasperated. "Do you even _cook_ in this kitchen? Or do you just make out? Maybe I'm not the animal hybrid here, because you two are obviously part rabbit!"

"You're not supposed to be here," Steve said, looking like a deer in the headlights.

"My apartment is flooded, where else was I supposed to go?" She crossed her arms. "Besides, I called both of you before coming over, but you didn't pick up."

"Yeah, we were..." Tony's eyes slid to Steve, his right thumb rubbing circles on the skin of Steve's stomach. Steve tried to keep his cool, his hands clenching into fists. "..._occupied_."

"_Tony_..." Steve said in a warning tone.

"This family is bizarre." Max shook her head and grabbed the plate of pancakes. "I'm taking these as ransom until you two get your raging hormones under control."

"You don't even have a fork!" Steve called out after her as she disappeared into her bedroom.

"I think I'll manage!" Max scoffed and latched the door behind her.

* * *

The pancakes tasted sensational, but left a bad aftertaste with the image of her dads making out seared into her brain. They hadn't been like that the two years she had lived with them. Maybe it was empty nest syndrome or something that had them acting like a couple of college freshmen. Maybe she just never _noticed_. That scared her.

They seriously needed to get a clue.

So in order to give them some space, Max went to her classes and attempted to spend some time at the library that she rarely, if ever, set foot in. That didn't last very long, so she went to Avengers Tower. Clint and Natasha were away on missions, Bruce had his own place, and Thor only ever stayed there if Jane was visiting, so there was a good chance that Max could get some work done on her history paper and maybe study for that quiz in herbology.

"Hey kiddo," Jane said, breezing by with a cup of water in her hands. "What are you doing hanging around here?"

"Oh, you know," Max sighed, her 18th Century English Poets book resting on her forehead. "Just studying. The dads are back at the house being toxically adorable."

"Are you staying with them for the weekend?" Jane sat down on one end of the couch.

"I'm staying with them for the foreseeable future," Max grumbled. "My apartment's flooded, so I have to do all of _that_ paperwork and then I have to find a new place."

"I have a place you can live," Jane said, crossing her legs and taking a sip of her water.

"Really?" Max sat straight up, her English book in her hands. "I mean, I love the idiots, but they're better in small doses."

"I get what you mean." Jane set down her water glass and picked up Max's notebook and her pen. "May I?" Max nodded and Jane scribbled something down. "Her name is Darcy. She was my assistant when I first met Thor and recently lost her job so she can't pay for rent. I'll call ahead and ask her if she's willing to take you in."

"A roommate?" Max scrunched her nose up at the thought. When birds were in low numbers they mostly became solitary creatures. You don't usually see a starling going halfsies on a fresh earthworm.

"You'll love her. You guys are so alike it's creepy," Jane said, dialing Darcy's number. "Hey Darcy? Yeah, it's Jane. I think I have someone you can room with..."

* * *

Darcy's apartment was not something to brag about. It was a simple affair in Chelsea that was farther than she liked from Avenger's tower for both school and hero reasons. The place had two bedrooms and a small breakfast bar kitchen with a living room that held a couch and a television. The window opposite the breakfast bar and over the sink connected to a fire escape. All in all, better than other places Max had lived in, but she had gotten used to the lush surroundings of her hero life. Time to return to normalcy.

"Wooh, cool new person!" Darcy vaulted herself over the back of the sofa as Max hobbled in, up to her arms in distressed leather luggage. She let her bags drop on the welcome mat and closed the door behind her. "I'm Darcy."

"Max," she replied, shaking Darcy's hand. She looked at all of her bags. "Where should I...?

"The blue door." Darcy gesture with her thumb to a door behind her. "I have the green one. You can decorate it however you like. I've never had a roommate before, so this should be interesting."

"One time I had five." Max smiled ruefully, picking up her bags and shuffling into her new room.

"Oh, yeah, Jane mentioned you were one of the heroes. What's your schtick?" Darcy wandered back into the kitchen and got out a beer from the fridge.

"My schtick?" Max asked, sitting down at the breakfast bar and muttering a thanks when Darcy handed her a beer.

"You know, do you have x-ray vision, can you levitate things, ooh!" Darcy became excited. "Can you turn onto one of those lizard people like you see on tv?!"

Max snorted. "I don't think the tv is the most reliable source of information."

"Thor's and his tightly suited ass are from a different planet," Darcy pointed out. "Anything they say on there could be the truth. So what is it? Magic bread? Ice powers? Time manipulation? What?"

"I can turn into Godzilla." Max took a swig of her beer.

Darcy's eyes bugged out. "Seriously, dude? That's awesome!"

Max burst out into laughter. "No, I just have wings."

"Of the angel or bat variety?" Darcy asked.

"Neither," Max replied. "Hawk."

"You'll have to show me them sometimes." Darcy finished her beer and put it in the recycling bin.

"Yeah, if we could just get some of this clutter..." She trailed off mid sentence as something in the window caught her eye. A flash of red and blue as Spider-man swung onto the building across from them. She got up from the breakfast bar and grabbed her keys.

"Yeah, I always thought that- Hey! Where are you going?" Darcy exclaimed.

"I'll be right back!" Max yelled in return, zooming to the front door.

"Yeah, yeah," Darcy muttered bitterly, going to get another beer.

* * *

The street was devoid of arachnid vigilantes for the moment, litter coasting on the occasional thermal at around knee level with a slight rustle. Max did a 360 and took off running when she saw a flash of red out of the corner of her eye. He was fast, flitting from building to building as she pursued him.

Max didn't want to open her wings in broad daylight even thought it would be faster. The space in the alleyway was limited and the hobos talkative. She stuck to running on foot for the time being until she reached a chain link fence and vaulted herself over it. The speck of red was getting closer.

"Hey asshole!" Max shouted.

Spider-man faltered and lost his footing, landing in a crouch on the ground.

"Got your attention, didn't I?" She grinned, walking slowly towards him. "You ran off so quick last week that we didn't even get to have a decent chat." Her demeanor quickly turned sour. "Spider-man."

He rose up to his full height, the bug eyes of his super suit reflecting her image. He didn't speak.

"Who _are_ you?" Mas asked him in a near whisper. "You can tell me, I won't squeal. One outcast to another."

The space between them was no more than a foot. Spider-man tensed, his fingers clenching and then relaxing. "You're not an outcast."

He shot the building next to him with his webbing, planning to take off, but Max wasn't willing to let this go.

"Oh no you don't," she muttered, grabbing his mask in her fist. The spandex stretched in slow motion as it pulled off of his fac. Spider-man's web took him upwards and gravity pulled Max back down from her leap. Tufts of brown hair blew in the breeze as the maskless Spider-man disappeared over the roof.

Max looked down at the mask in her hand and then at the roof where he had once stood. "I'll find you," she said. "I swear, I'll find out who you are."

* * *

**Now that Max has his mask, Spidey can't do any patrols and fight crime, which is a serious stitch in his side. And the question of the day is...**

**When Max meets Warren Worthington III what do you think will happen?**

**Next chapter is the gala, which I am doubly excited for. Stay lovely!**

**-Acca**


	8. 70 Percent Flour, 30 Percent Cheese

**Hello on this fine Tuesday, how are you? Never mind that, pre gala wonderfulness awaits you. Enjoy!**

* * *

She was pulled out in the middle of econ like it was fourth grade.

"Maximum Rogers-Stark, your aunt is here for you," the loudspeakers boomed and all eyes shot to Max with accusing glares. She sighed and picked up her messenger bag from the floor, slinging it over her shoulder. Her professor gave her the stink eye as she hurried from the room, her coat wrapped around her left arm.

She rounded the corner and came face to face with Natasha, almost toppling over into the oncoming pathways of students.

"So you're my aunt now?" Max raised an eyebrow. The agent was dressed in a normal light blue button down and jeans, a black leather jacket resting on her shoulders. Max could tell there was a knife or a gun hidden in there somewhere, but she really didn't want to go looking.

"Pepper couldn't make it," was all Natasha said as they walked out of the finances building and into the parking lot. A taxi was waiting. "You have a fitting for dresses today."

"Ugh, don't remind me." Max scooted across the seats to make room for Natasha. "Whoever said that girls wearing suits wasn't appropriate can go and jump off of a cliff into a vat of boiling acid."

"You've been reading too many comic books," Tasah remarked, giving the cabbie an address.

"Who needs comic books with a life like this?" Max gestured to the space around her. "Limousines and fancy galas. What more could a girl want?"

"Ha ha," Natasha said sarcastically. "You're too funny."

"With your sense of humour, someone has to be." The taxi pulled over onto the curb of Bloomingdale's. Tasha gave the driver some money and he took off to pick up more passengers.

"Just remember," Tasha said as they entered the store. "If I can fight in a formal dress, so can you."

* * *

All of them looked terrible. Tasha and Pepper, who arrived half an hour later, didn't say so, but Max thought so. They either constricted her wings or showed them off to the public like prize pigs.

"Can't I just wear a jacket?" Max asked after she put on a long-sleeved lace getup that had her feathers poking through the back.

"You know perfectly well that you can't," Pepper said, sipping complimentary champagne. "You've done this before, why make a big fuss?"

"Because I _hate_ dresses and it's always so hard to find one that fits me," Max replied, looking at herself in the 180 mirror. Her wings were too bulky, as always.

"Try this one," Tasha handed her a blue dress from the rack that they had in their private fitting room. Max shrugged and took it, peeling off the lace one and zipping this one up. It was strapless with a twist at the bust, falling to just above her toes in accordion pleats. She looked at herself in the mirror, shifting her wings so they were laying outside the dress.

"This one would be good if _my wings weren't showing_." Max flexed them a bit, straightening the feathers. "I'll be the freak of the entire damn dinner."

"Lots of heroes have physical mutations," Tasha pointed out. "Beast will be there and he's blue with fuzzy mutton chops."

"He's also a member of Congress," Max countered. "I'm just some brat that occasionally chips in on the saving Earth effort. I can't flaunt these babies, it'd be like having excessive cleavage."

"We all know you don't need help in the boob department." Pepper and Tasha began to snicker and Max gave them a withering glare.

"I'm going to change," Max declared, stomping off into the dressing room.

"C'mon, don't give up now!" Pepper said, glancing around for another dress. She found a dress and picked it up, flinging it into the dressing room. "Try this one on."

"Okay, but I won't promise that it will look good." Max came out of the dressing room and stood before the mirror. The dress was light mustard in colour with a loose bodice that was cinched by a teal cord. Below the cord the mustard yellow gave way to a teal art deco pattern with silver beading. The neckline was high and her shoulders covered with a loose overlap of fabric around the bust, allowing for her wings to be easily and comfortable concealed.

"It'll do," she said critically.

"It'll _do_?" Tasha repeated. "It's perfect."

Max looked back at her reflection. "It'll do."

* * *

They never took a limousine to outings like this. Steve had insisted upon it, saying things like that were superfluous gestures of their wealth and gaudy in relation to their character. Plus, he always thought the interiors felt sticky.

Max, Tony, and Steve were waiting at the front of the house for the car to be brought around when a different car pulled up to the door and someone who was very different from the usual driver stepped out.

He was tall, taller than Max, with broad shoulders and some serious muscles underneath his dark blue and silver suit. His skin was lightly tanned with blonde hair and blue eyes. His face betrayed him in age, making him took around 22 years old.

"Warren," Tony shook the man's hand with a sarcastic smile. "How is your dear father?"

"He is well," Warren said. "A little too well."

_Hello Mr. Daddy Issues_, Max thought wryly.

"This is my daught, Max," Tony presented her to Warren after he had shaken Steve's hand as well.

"Worthington," Max said, looking him up and down.

"Ride," Warren replied with a quirk of the left corner of his mouth.

"You know my original name. How...interesting." Warren opened the car door for Max and she slipped inside.

"The X-Men know many things about you." Warren got behind the wheel. "We'll see you at the gala."

Tony waved as they zoomed off. "I don't trust him."

"You don't trust anyone," Steve remarked.

"I trust you." Their car pulled up and they sat in the backseat.

"Once again," Steve pecked Tony on the cheek. "Perfect answer."

* * *

Peter didn't normally cover socialite events, but he requested this job in advance. It had surprised Jameson to no end, but he allowed it. He was arranged at the end of a red carpet with other journalists and paparazzi along with a news crew from channel nine, the reporter Gemma Geralds overly-made up for the occasion. They all jostled to get a glimpse of the rich and famous, but Peter stood still. He wanted to photograph the gala for one reason and one reason only: Max.

She had told him about the gala last week when they grabbed pizza together at a dive in Greenwich. Over an entire large Napoleon pizza for her and a medium calzone for him she mentioned off-handedly that she had a function to go to.

"What kind of function?" Peter asked, spooning a glob of cheese and filling into his mouth.

"It's a stupid bridge dedication," Max said, polishing off her eighth piece. "Like we even need any more bridges."

"They sort of help to connect things," Peter pointed out.

"We're already too connected," Max bit into the crust. Her hand lay on the table next to the shaker of parmesan cheese that was 70% flour 30% cheese (and most decidedly _not_ of the parmesan variety). Peter shifted his hand over and entangled his fingers with hers. "Everyone could just jump on their hoverboards and fly over whatever gap this bridge is joining."

"You're a little ahead of the times, Marty McFly," Peter teased.

"Oh, we don't have hovers yet?" She sounded disappointed. "Shame. I was planning on asking for one for my birthday."

"And that would be when?" Peter tried to slyly pick up information from her brain.

"None of your beeswax, Parker." She glanced down at their conjoined hands and bit into the crust with a smile.

The memory bubbled out of his mind's eye as he saw Max emerge from a town car. She looked absolutely stunning in her silk crepe dress and done up hair. She looked like a steel sculpture, something so flawlessly beautiful, but as hard as a diamond. Her eye makeup wasn't fierce but playful in a light turquoise, something he hadn't expected.

He readied his camera and began snapping several pictures of her emerging from the car. What he didn't see was the man behind her until he came and put an arm around her waist.

"Arriving now is Maximum Rogers-Stark who is here tonight with Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters graduate, Warren Worthington III." The Gemma told the camera, then hobbled over to where Max and Warren were as they made their way down towards the doors to the building. "Maximum, do you have anything to say on the superhero memorial bridge?"

Peter could see Max biting her tongue, refusing to say something scathing and sarcastic and risk sullying her parents' reputation. She smiled cordially at Gemma Geralds. "I think it is a wonderful testament to New York City as well as all of the people that strive to protect it." Read:_ I think it's a ton of horse shit._

"And do you have anything to comment on, Warren?" Gemma thrust the microphone up under the blonde man's light smattering of stubble.

"Nothing more than Max has already said." Warren smiled with faux warmth. Read: _Could you please stop badgering us, bitch._

Gemma, sensing a lot cause, smiled with practiced precision and moved on to interview the next couple, two men in matching suits. Her camera crew followed with a sigh and an eyeroll in the direction of Gemma Geralds, ace reporter.

Max and Warren continued to walk down the row of spectators. Peter wasn't sure how he felt about her showing up at an official function with another guy. There was a deep tug in his stomach, like a zombie loosing it's guts on the bathroom floor; it was a sinking feeling as if the strings in him had broken loose somehow. But then Max, with all of the politeness of an estranged family member, took Warrens arm off of her waist and began to walk a few paces ahead of him.

_That's my girl_, Peter thought, triumphantly, raising his camera to fit in another few shots.

Max finally spotted him, not without a hint of surprise in her eyes, and then gave him a look that he returned with a wink. He knew that look. It said _I'll see you inside_.

* * *

**Oooh, now we're getting to see Peter and Max's secret relationship in action. Oh the racing pulses, oh the exhilarating near-misses with gala guests. And the question of the day is...**

**When Warren meets Peter, how will he react?**

**-Acca**


	9. Don't You Dare

**Not the longest chapter, I know, but at least I updated! This is one has a bit of relationship drama in it, so enjoy!**

* * *

The inside was just as glittery as the outside. Chandeliers swung from the vaulted ceilings like translucent testaments to the wealth of society suspended above the ballroom floor, dripping crystals that refracted their inner glow across all shadows that may cross their path. Mother-of-pearl was inlaid in the marble floors in an art deco fashion. Round tables lined the wall and clustered around the front of a stage upon which a fake red ribbon fastened between two poles was meantto represent the ribbon on the actual bridge and when cut would release a rush of symbolic gratitude that would not be lost on the heroes. They've got their own _bridge _now. Yay for them.

A band was playing a light jazz theme as Warren and Max entered the ballroom. A waiter offered them both champagne and Max took a glass, downing it in one gulp when he was out of sight.

"Slow down, Kujo," Warren teased as Max shook her head as if to dispel any unwelcome thoughts.

"I'm going to need a lot more where that came from to survive tonight," Max muttered.

"Never been to one of these things before, huh?" he took the glass from her and set it back down on the waiter's tray.

"I've been to one too many," Max said bitterly. "But let's talk about you, Mr. Tall, Blonde, and Broody."

"What do you want to know?" His face didn't betray any emotion.

Max crossed her arms. "Things," she said cryptically.

Warren resisted rolling his eyes. "I come from a long line of business men. My father, Warren Worthington II, knows your father because they occasionally clash on business matters. That's all you need to know."

"Huh," she said, looking him up and down. Max narrowed her eyes. "How do you know so much about me?"

"It's not me," Warren said emphatically. "It's the X-Men. We've known about you and your Flock for a long time. Even offered you a safe haven once, but you never came."

"We thought it was a trap," Max said.

"You're still welcome at the Academy if you and the Flock want to study with us." Warren's blue eyes shone with sincerity and sent Max into shock. He didn't know.

A hush came over Max and she averted his gaze. "The rest of the Flock is dead."

"Oh." The realization settled over Warren like new fallen snow. "Oh, I really am sorry, Max."

"Yeah? Well get in line, bucko." Max picked up another glass of champagne and this time Warren didn't stop her.

* * *

It was a lot easier to get into the party than Peter thought it would be.

"Pass please," the bouncer said flatly. He was a stout fellow with an unfortunately rectangular face emphasized by a starkly cut flat top hairdo. He looked like he belonged in the Crimea, not an Upper East Side party.

Peter fumbled in his suit pocket for the Daily Bugle employee pass. A smiling 18-year-old Peter stared out from the laminated cardstock. The pass was due to expire in a few months when he turned twenty one.

The bouncer looked at the card, looked at Peter, looked at the camera, and grunted with a nearly imperceptible nod towards the door.

Peter thanked him and entered the gala, which was just beginning to warm up with the cocktail hour. Guests were conversing in various corners of the room, some couples had even started to dance. The mayor of New York City sat chatting with a blue man with round spectacles. Peter raised his camera and snapped a few photos.

As he wormed his way through the pockets of party goers people began to notice him less and less, as if he was just a piece tastefully decorated stature to avoid or a floor lamp. Peter didn't like to be thought of as a lamp, but as furniture went it was less humiliating than being an ottoman or a Lay-Z-Boy.

He was rounding the south corner of the ballroom when a hand shot out and snatched him by the back of the collar, pulling him into a hidden service closet. He ducked, wrenching his suit out of the hand's grasp, and pushed the attacker up against one wall with his forearm pressed on their throat.

"Hey stranger." Max's crooked grin shone in the dim lighting of the closet. Peter rook his arm off of her neck, his camera bounding against his chest.

"God, Max, you scared the crap out of me." He let out an exasperated sigh and took his camera off from around his neck. He set it down on the shelf to his left.

"Have I ever told you how hot you look in a suit?" He could feel Max wind her hands around his waist and pull him in close.

His anger began to dissipate with the compliment. "You've never seen me in a suit," he said with a roll of the eyes and a sly grin.

"All the more reason to keep wearing them," Max replied, raking her eyes over the well-cut black fabric decorating his shoulders.

"You know, you should probably get back to the party," Peter said. "Someone might notice that you're missing."

"Yeah, yeah." Max stood on her tiptoes, her nose barely brushing up against his and their lips tantalizingly close. "Less talking, more kissing."

Peter was roped into a fiercely passionate kiss that he eventually leaned into, ruffling more than a few feathers, but he felt that is was mostly Max kissing. Peter wanted to kiss her, he _loved _kissing her, but he was more worried about what would happen when they were found by a stray waiter or serving maid. That didn't mean he didn't enjoy it (he really did, a _lot_) it just meant that he was a bit more cautious. If anything, Peter was the prude in the relationship. Max didn't have such inhibitions to limit her because she barely had any consequences as is. If her fathers found them Peter was pretty sure he would be worse for wear, whereas Max would walk away with a slap on the wrist and some injured pride.

"Max," Peter tried to say.

"Mmhmm?" She hummed and continued to kiss him with her eyes shut firmly against the outside world.

"Max," Peter said with more force, pushing her away as gently as possible. She got the message and took a step back, peering up at him with her big brown eyes.

"Yeah, I get it," Max mumbled. "The party awaits."

"But..." Peter snaked his arm around her wait, regretting his decision after seeing the look on her face. "Maybe just one more kiss."

"Yes!" Max said triumphantly. "I will corrupt your young mind soon enough."

"We'll see about that."

And they kissed, but one kiss turned into two, which turned into four, which (if you carry the twelve) turned into much, much more involving sweaty palms and the removal of suit jackets in the confined space of the janitor's closet. But it didn't end up progressing very far as the door swung wide open with a flood of lamplight. Max and Peter sprung apart as a very angry Warren stood to full height (which wasn't much taller than Max, but impressive nonetheless).

"Max," Warren growled, pulling her out of the room by the wrist. "I'll deal with you later," he added pointedly to Peter before slamming the door closed.

"Get your hands off of me!" Max was five second away from judo flipping his ass.

"You really arm a problem child, aren't you?" Warren seethed, more angry at Max than the fact that she was feeling up the event photographer in a broom cupboard. "Drinking, sex, what's next, drugs?"

Max met his eyes with defiance. "You don't even know me," she said scathingly. "I met you all of five minutes ago and you think you can lecture me on what I can and can't do?"

"I know you're in a bad place right now, but your parents deserve better!" Warren gripped her shoulders and forced her to look him in the eye. "How do you think they'd feel if they knew you were having a quickie with the hired help in a _closet_?"

"Don't you even _dare_ call him that!" The simmering to of anger inside Max boiled over. Her fists began to shake with rage. "He is my boyfriend, and we've been going out for weeks so _excuse me_ if I want to kiss him. I didn't know that was against some arbitrary and misogynistic rules!" She turned on her heel and stormed away from Warren, the soles of her shoes clicking against the floor.

"Where are you going?" Warren reached out a hand to hold her back but Max flipped him onto his back in one deft move.

"I was leaving so I didn't smash your brains out all over this pretty little floor," she twisted his arm to the point of breaking with a malicious smile. "But I guess that's not an option."

A deafening boom came from the main ballroom, interrupting their tryst with scattered screams.

"Shit," Max said. "Don't think this gets you off the hook."

"Same goes for you." Warren countered. They exchanged a glance, switching into hero mode and leapt up to investigate.

Meanwhile, Peter was leaving the small room when his camera knocked Max's beaded clutch open on the floor. A spark of red fabric peeked out from the left corner and he bent down to pick it up, surprised to see the mask of the infamous Spider-Man. He stared in amazement at the thing and glanced to check that the coast was clear before pulling it on.

Peter Parker was back in action.

* * *

**Done! Hopefully the next chapter will be written sooner. I'll try my best to update sooner, but now I must go and write the next chapter of LWTO. And the question of the day is...**

**What was it that interrupted the gala?**

**Review with your answer!**

**Also, I opened up an author's blog on tumblr, the url is acadia-cor. I'll post manips, gifs, graphics, and sneak peeks relating to my fics. You can also ask me pretty much anything and I'll answer it. If you want to follow my multi-fandom personal blog, that one is bells-in-a-hand-basket.**

**So doooo it, follow both acadia-cor and bells-in-a-hand-basket on tumblr!**

**-Acca**


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